


its never been in the roses

by LovelyLittleMudblood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLittleMudblood/pseuds/LovelyLittleMudblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it started out innocently enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	its never been in the roses

This has happened to him countless times before: waking up in the early morning hours to find a woman in his bed. Of course he's always the first to wake. His body's clock is always set for him to avoid awkward talk before the sunrise. He is the master escape artist of the morning after. But this time is different. He doesn't leave- not immediately, anyway- because next to him is not just one of those countless, faceless women. No, sleeping peacefully next to him with her face buried in his pillow and her unruly curls spread like a halo around her face is Hermione Granger.

The first thing he remembers is that they weren't drunk. Oddly enough, it's the first thought to come to his mind after the reaction of nonsensical profanity finally clears from his sleep-fogged brain. It's his first thought because in over a decade of knowing each other they've never done this and frankly he's in disbelief that it would happen naturally and not in a dream. They may have tumbled to the sheets in a passion driven haze, but the only thing he remembers being intoxicated by is the smell of her skin so close to him.

Hermione sighs deeply and fidgets for a moment before relaxing back into her slumber. The sheet covering her back shifts with her movement, showing him the silken skin of her back. He suppresses a grin when he sees the freckles adorning her shoulders, as he lets his memory finally catch up with him.

The night had started out innocently enough, as he looks at her across the room in her Green stain dress and all he can think about is his hands on her and how badly he needs her no matter how confusing it might be, so he asks her to dance and to every ones surprise she accepts his hand and he pulls her onto the dance floor and one song turns into three and three into the end of the wedding party.

"thank you for dancing with me Granger" He said lamely, walking her to the door, unsure of how to tread the waters. He and Granger could go toe to toe at any time of the day but if he was being honest with himself, he never really knew how to deal with the awkwardness of having to be apologetic. The reality of his little fascination and their past had settled by then and the guilt had begun to fester. She raised a brow as if to say "really?" but the corner of her lip tugged into a half smile anyway.

"you're welcome Malfoy" she smiled and placed her hand on his cheek. As she turned to walk away from him he found himself calling out to her through no accord of his own. She looked at him expectantly and suddenly he was blurting out an apology in a long string of words that he'd forget by the next morning and she wouldn't think coherent in that moment.

"What?" she questioned, closer to him.

"I said I'm sorry." He repeated slowly, maybe more to comprehend it himself than for her benefit.

"For what?" she questioned her coffee eyes meeting his grey ones for the first all night.

"for everything…."

"oh…it's the past Malfoy, lets leave it there, yeah?" turning away from him she went to leave, before she could make a getaway, he quickly grasped her wrist and whipped her around, cornering her with both his hands planted against the wall behind her. She made a squeak of shock but surprisingly no attempt to escape. The gaze she held with him was a new form of captivity; for a fleeting moment he was powerless to her, the coffee and gold of her eyes freezing him to the spot. Finally able to tear away from them, he stared at her pink lips, parted as her mouth hung slightly agape. In his proximity he could feel the heavy rise and fall of her chest; or perhaps it was own. He wouldn't know because suddenly he was kissing her. It would have been a lie to say he had never imagined kissing Hermione Granger. Frankly, he always thought it might come with a twinge of awkwardness, given how long their relationship had been purely hate filled . But the kiss was anything but awkward or hate filled. It was familiarity, it was heat, it was a sort of intimacy that didn't set off alarms in his brain telling him to run, but instead set a spark in his blood that made it run impossibly warmer. Yes, kissing her was not something he wanted to stop doing. And so as lips clung to each other with disparity and his hands rested gently on her hips, his fingers sneaking slightly under the hem of the back of her dress and rubbed soft circles into the small of her back. He instantly felt tiny goose bumps form under his touch and had to hold back an arrogant smirk at the realization of how responsive to him her body was. The groan that came from the depths of his throat was involuntary, but it apparently startled her because she suddenly broke away from him and stepped back to put some defensive distance between them.

"Hey…" he whispered, wanting to feel her lips again. "Stop thinking it through."

"It's my job to over think." She made an attempt to sound firm but her voice was low and wavered in a way he'd never heard come from her before. "It compensates for every one else never thinking anything through." The words tumbled clumsily off her tongue and trailed away as Draco leaned closer to her once more, unabashedly taking her in and letting his warm breath skim across her delicate neck. He heard his name rush passed her lips in a sigh, making him ache to lean in just a bit further and discover the taste of her skin. In that moment, he couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to just give in to the way he wanted her; so before he could stop himself, his lips were a breath away from hers once more "tell me no, Hermione" he said closing the distance between them and pressing himself completely against her. "Tell me you don't want this" his voice harsh with longing as he wrapped his arms around her. " tell me to stop" he almost begged when her hand came up to gently caress the side of his face. " tell me you don't want this" he closed his eyes pressing himself into her touch " tell me, Hermione."  
"I ...I can't" she barely managed before his lips came crashing down into hers. There would be no turning back now.

"Tell me you don't want this too…" his voice held a certain thickness that was rough with want, "tell me to stop and I will." She didn't. Instead, she pulled him in by the nape of his neck and kissed him with fervor so urgent that it took him a second to respond with equal passion. She was suddenly everywhere all at once, and he didn't know whether he should focus on the ravage attack of her lips, the feel of her hand grasping clumsily at his shirt, or the gentle graze of her fingers on his chest in her attempt to get his shirt over his head. When it hit the floor, he gaped at her unabashedly, both in shock and in an effort to find any possible doubt in her eyes. He found no hesitation beyond her hooded lids. Wrapping his arms around her again he pulled her to him lips attacking hers as he apparated them to his room with a slight pop. The way they tumbled backward and fell to the soft mattress of his bed was anything but graceful. By then he was midway through kicking his pants from around his ankles as she tossed her expensive heels in a nearby corner. The dress she wore pooled on the floor as soon as he tugged the zipper down. By the time they found the bed, they were both bare. The irony of how eagerly they threw away any long-established hatred pretense was – for the moment – completely lost on them.

"Merlin, Hermione…" A heavy breath escaped as he nestled his body over hers and groaned lightly as her thighs gently flanked him. Forcing himself to smooth his brow creased with pent up frustration, he opened his eyes and took in the glorious sight of her: porcelain skin dusted with innumerable freckles. He couldn't help but lean in and kiss them on her collarbone. She had legs for days, lips red with attention, and her chest heaved for air. The need for her, her body, and her being, was all at once overwhelming. And so as he lays in bed the next morning, glancing at her still sleeping form, he remembers the giggle he heard for the first time as they tumbled backwards onto his bed. He remembers the taste of her skin as he memorized her freckles with his lips. He can still hear the sigh of his name and the way she whispered that she wanted him into his ear. He already misses the feel of her thighs brushing against his hips with every movement of his body. As he stretches the sleep from his lax muscles, he recalls the way her fingernails trailed down his back and created a slight pain so sweet that he nearly lost all semblance of control. The relaxed and sated look on her face in her slumber is a sharp contrast from the expression she held in the throws of ecstasy; he can't hold back his grin of arrogant accomplishment at the thought. He suddenly becomes aware of how his body is reacting to his trip down short-term memory lane and he's at a loss. Frankly, he's no stranger to waking up the woman in his bed in the middle of the night to quench his particular hunger. But when the woman next to him is more than just a woman – it's Granger for Merlin's sake – he takes a rare moment of stopping to think. Being with Hermione had been a moment of heat, of want, of release of tension and inhibition. But as the sun rises outside the windowed walls of his bedroom, he wonders what the next moment they surrender to each other will be like – or if there will be a next moment at all. In his current state of solitary lust he sure as hell hopes there is.

He doesn't know how long he's been awake, merely contemplating and watching her sleep. He doesn't know when he turned into the type of person who does such a thing. Granger begins to fidget again, tilting her body and stretching out her arm, as if in search of something. She finds it as her head meets his shoulder and her hand rests on his chest, next to the gentle hum of his heart. Her dreamy smile and sigh allows it to occur to him that she deserves more than a one-night stand with a complimentary sunrise round. But if he is going to find the control to not wake her and tell her how badly he wants her – again – he needs to summon the strength to leave the enticing warmth of her bare body entwined with his. So he slips out of her semi-embrace, pads away to the master bathroom and turns the faucet in the shower. He goes back and leaves her a note telling her he would be right out. He doesn't want her to think he stole away to hide: he would with any other woman.

His skin is heated but the water is refreshingly cool; though the beating stream against his back does nothing to calm the throb of his pulse. Absentmindedly, his hands begin to wander in an attempt to quell his desire. His mind tantalizes him with images: the sight of her above him with her hips swaying in a delicious rhythm, and the darkened shade of her eyes staring back at him in ardor. He wants her there with him: her water-slickened body flush against his, her pleasured words whispered into the curve between his neck and shoulder as he presses her to the shower wall and thrusts into her. Before long he's coming off the same high she brought him to mere hours before. As he brings his labored breathing back to a normal pace, he steps from the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. He takes the time to shave, staring back at his own refection in the mirror before him and not feeling the twinge of discontent he's become so accustomed to.

The change in his reflection helps him come to the realization that for the first time in his colored history of falling into bed with women, he suddenly wants the woman to still be there the next morning. He doesn't question it. He doesn't want to. He wants to be next to Hermione when she wakes up, set his palm on the soft curve of her hip and kiss away her sated smile before reminding her how incredible the night before was. He wants her to know that she is more than one in an innumerable list of women, even though he doesn't quite know what makes that so – aside from the extensive amount of time they are going to spend together at work now that he has been promoted… and how incredibly sexy he thinks she is. He sees her differently and she should know that. But when he makes his way back to the bedroom, he finds the bed empty. Molliney tells him she's gone. He never considered that maybe she wouldn't want to see him the morning after.

To him Hermione was not the kind of girl he'd be able to forget about in a moment.

shes the kind that'll stick like a burr and breathe ice down his veins, but her lips as he had just found out would melt the frost in a moment. she the kind of girl that'll sneak into him system like nicotine and fire whiskey so he'll keep asking for just a little bigger sip each time, just one more bottle, just one more drag. Just one more.

shes a lie in the making and an addiction brewing in the spaces between his bones. Shes terribly atrocious and wonderfully divine and he'll love her almost as much as he hates her. She won't be part of his memory, because she'll flood it until she's all that's there. she'll steal his lungs and give him sips of his own breath and promise him it's sweeter. she'll bite his bottom lip with laughing eyes and wipe away the blood precipitation with something that looks like sympathy but feels just like lust.  
and he'll never know which, but he'll keep fighting because he's dying to know.

she's a storm that'll be anything but safe and he'll often feel his cells pulled apart in the wind when he's too busy running to care. She's potholes and rabbit tunnels and breathless whispers in deserted corridors. she'll free fall off his sanity and pull him over the edge and out of his clothes and into her arms.

she is not ruthless, she's just unbridled; she'll be as wild as he'll let her 'll give him life and take away his sleep. she'll plant crazy dreams in the corner of his mind and let them grow because he doesn't deserve less. she'll wake him up at dawn because she couldn't wait another moment to show him exactly how a poem should feel. she'll sing when they're kissing and dance when they're loving and it'll hurt but the kind of pain that feels just like being alive.

she'll show him hearts aren't made to live sheltered in ribcages, but rather in the belly of the flame. she'll cut him twice and kiss him once and she will promise, it doesn't sound like it, but the scar will be worth it. she'll laugh when she's crying and cry when she's laughing, and she won't make sense, but it'll be okay.

because she'll show him the kind of love he has spent his entire life trying to find.  
it's never been in the roses, darling; it's always been in the thorns.

He would just have to take the time to convince her that he wanted more than just a tumble and a one off… he wanted her. He wanted all of her. Quite possibly forever.


End file.
